Prabuddha VIII

This is the eighth part of the translation of Mahagama Sekera's epic poem 'Prabuddha', an exercise that has the permission and blessings of the immediate family of Mahagama Sekera. Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI and VII were published in www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com.
 

From that moment

he was one of them
from that moment
he too danced with them
in tune and in step
in perfect harmony.

It was the festival of intoxication:

floating in alcoholic stupor
lost in lust
high on power greed
high on money need.

And the lecherous eye

cast its inevitable glance
not on his incomparable voice
but its profit potential. 

From then on

he mixed sweetner into love
stirred it up into lust
poured his voice
and let it sit
trapped in the circularity  
of music record.

They were sold in the thousands

these intoxicating discs
his voice swirled in city mansions
echoed among splendid furniture
wafted from balconies.
 
His voice descended from up above
wandered from avenue to road to pathways
city to town to village
into the ears of impressionable youth;
and they began wearing bellbottoms
wrapped around themselves large, wide belts,
gathered in street corner and junction
danced the twist
sang with him
‘‘The time it is a-passing
to freeze it all,
hold it tight
this is it,
fun, fun, fun!’

The voice that went away like wind

came back as shining silver rupee coins.

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Prabuddha VII

This is the seventh part of the translation of Mahagama Sekera's epic poem 'Prabuddha', an exercise that has the permission and blessings of the immediate family of Mahagama Sekera. Parts I, II, III, IV, V and VI were published in www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com

Then someone said,
‘Heard you are an artist
how about a song?’

Prabuddha went to the piano

As though seeing a dear friend
When lost, alone and helpless in a far off country.

‘Jagan mohinee…..madhura bhaashinee

charu dehinee…kamala vaasinee
sarasvathee devee…vande
sarasvathee devee…..

Kampitha kanchana maala poojitha kinkini noopura jaalaaa

paada saroje katee thataake chanchala narthana leela
sa-paaa…..ma-paa…pa-da…ga-ma-paaaa
ga-ma-pa-nee….ni-sa-nee-paa….’

They stared

as though he sang the incomprehensible
in an incomprehensible tongue
ill at ease the seemed.

Is this not sweet, this music? 

or have they heard music sweeter still?
do they not understand
tell, pray, what reason for this silence?

‘Master!  This does not please

and not for lack of appreciation,
a pop song it was
that all expected!’

‘A pop song!  A pop song!’

they cried

‘Hey, come one, come all!’

come dance, come sing
for the time it is a-passing
to freeze it all,
Hold it tight
This is it,
fun, fun, fun!
Money, money, money
money to eat
money to drink
money for meat, the choicest cuts
money for drink, the finest wines
got to live for the day
got to have the rupees and the cents
got to do the whatever-it-takes
got to do the whoever-gets-hurt
got to have the money, money, money
hey, come on, come all,
come baby, it’s time to dance
time for fun
time for games,
time to sing and dance
time to forget all
for this, baby, is it
the ultimate
paradise and nothing else!’

Amazing!

Big bellied men, tall and stout

wheezing women, wide of waist
arose from a stupor
tapped their feet, shook their legs
waved arm, threw back head
Set a-trembling their excess flesh:
 
‘Got to do the whatever-it-takes
got to do the whoever-gets-hurt’
 

Arm around waist

they hugged and danced
embraced and kissed
swaying in wine-drenched dream
parents, kids, grandkids,
lost in the half-conscious of song
found in the fully-awake of lust
in an incestuous blend and blur.
 
‘For the time it is a-passing
to freeze it all,
hold it tight
this is it,
fun, fun, fun!’
 
The minister came up,
offered hand:
‘You are a great artist
Wow!’
 
Yasodha kissed him:
‘Beautiful darling,
so wonderful!’

Inferiority complex had left the building

where embarrassment hid, he did not know
‘I cannot myself remember yesterday
and all of you and I, we are one,
we are equal now!’


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Face etchings

In line
in texture
skin colour
and the contortions
provoked by moment,
in the intensity of gaze
dropping of glance
are birthed
a hundred transparencies;
there are communities
laid upon these features
histories etched in curve
in scar
in wrinkle
unwrappable
as trial and injustice
triumph and contentment
love and equanimity
and also
as unspeakable
incoherencies
best left undeciphered
for reasons of decency
and the sanctity
of the unstoppable
need to object,
to rebel
and survive

[Inspired by the photography of Nalaka Sanjeewa and published in the UNDO Section of 'The Nation']

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Ode to ‘Somedays’

There are so many somedays
that have crept between other words
between innuendo and silence
sudden appearances
and long absences
so many somedays
for somethings
that if a day comes
announcing
'Here I am, tell me!"
I might pour it all out as tears
or just die.

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A heart-line song

So they made lines
and marked with sign
and underlined with red
for emphasis:
No no no no no no no!
They built walls on either side
used backhoes to make deep
forbidding trench
placed broken glass atop the wall
bred crocodiles to feed on those who strayed;
reinforced for good measure
with resolute steel
planted crosses for crucifixion
if need be
and passed stories of this and that
of terrible consequences.
But heart has no eyes
to read warning signs
no ear to hear objection
no tongue to protest
no fingers to test cut-glass prohibition
could not smell foul odors of repulsive dictate,
the heart could only love and love and love
and that's what it does,
as it always did
as it always will.

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Prabuddha VI

This is the sixth part of the translation of Mahagama Sekera's epic poem 'Prabuddha', an exercise that has the permission and blessings of the immediate family of Mahagama Sekera. Parts I, II, III, IV and V were published in www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com

From there,
that classy vantage point
he could sweep gaze
he could capture
the world in miniature
a teeny weeny ant-sized universe
corrugated lives
box-wood living
and peeping through these
human forms
wasted and miserable
spawn and breeders of squalor
ragged and wretched
marked with gutter stench
meandering by drain and ditch.

It wafted this foul odor

from those unnamed sewers
and birth revulsion
made head turn away
moved gaze toward feast.

In the visitors’ room

the guests made merry,
the well nourished and oversized
tie-coated gentlemen
doubled-chinned, wide-waisted chairmen
of corporate and corporation
and lawyers too,
covering pate with hair strands
carefully taken from one side to the other
in a delicate crossing,
entrepreneurs too
decorated with political patronage
who even wear the national dress
and even lubricate election campaigns.

There were women there

hair all done
high on fashion
neatly pinned
thickened lips and pointed fingernails
eyes half opened in allurement
flesh spilling at the waist
fanning themselves
chin up glances
from half closed eyes
and all these vanities
staying for awhile
the fading ways of beauty.

Then there was youth,

young men and women
long, unkempt locks
falling around shoulders
unisexed in hairstyle and wristwatch  
big belts keeping up
tight pants with countless pockets
miniskirts and bellbottoms
carefree in appearance
but seemingly lost
nevertheless.

And into their midst

floated Yasodha
a swan surely
that descends upon
and glides along the water.

Something changed right then

a different buzz went around the room
he felt small
and shy. 

He felt a dwarf in a Gulliverian world

a stranger on foreign soil.

 

Prabuddha Part V

This is the fifth part of the translation of Mahagama Sekera's epic poem 'Prabuddha'

And thereafter he saw.
He saw the thousands
starve and sweat
to build mansions.

And thereafter he saw.
He saw the thousands
starve and sweat
to fill those same houses. 
And thereafter he saw.
He saw them fight
saw them compete with one another
for more power, higher office, bigger position.
He saw thereafter
all the invisibles around him
visible
present.

It was a dream mansion:

Yasodha’s house
with its white wall
steel gates
marbled floors
covered with thick red carpets,
finely crafted furniture
innumerable artifacts and ornaments
ornate chandeliers
from exotic lands
and when he saw these comforts
Prabuddha felt diminished,
the fairytale dream dissolved
it fell and shattered
on the hardened earth
of unforgiving noontime light.

‘If only I could be one of them!’

That was the beginning of another dream-tale.
 
‘I see now the distance, Yasodha,
the chasm between us;
all I have is my birthright of poverty
and nothing like this splendor you own,
do you understand,
I have nothing,
nothing like this!’

‘And yet I love you!’

And so he climbed;

up the stairs he went
with her
hand in hand
and his soul took flight
encased in shoes well-polished
firmly boxed
in shirt and trouser, tie and coat.

From high above he saw the city

the houses tall and short,
the wide avenues and narrow lanes
and the masses
scurrying along, hither and thither
running the races of their choice
he saw the tiny cars
stopped on either side
in shapes never imagined before,
and as he reached the top floor
there was a dint of pride:
‘I too am one of them!’

This translation has the permission and blessings of the immediate family of Mahagama Sekera

 

[Parts I, II, III and IV were published in www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com]